


A Clean Slate

by LadyGaGalion, Sleepless_Malice



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Choking, Confessions, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Thranduil, Interrogation, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, sexual interrogation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 7,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5624842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGaGalion/pseuds/LadyGaGalion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/pseuds/Sleepless_Malice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galion wants to start the new year with a clear conscience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Galion

**Author's Note:**

> Galion's chapters are written by OohLaGalion. Thranduil's chapters are written by Sleepless_Malice.
> 
> Feel free to follow us on Tumblr: [OohLaGalion](http://oohlagalion.tumblr.com) and [feanope](http://feanope.tumblr.com)

_Aran nín,_

_Once again Yestare is upon is, and the burden of guilt weighs heavily upon my heart. Too many centuries have I taken advantage of your kindness. You have offered me every opportunity for a comfortable life, and all I have done in return is betray your trust. Thus I wish to confess to you all of my misdeeds, though I am well aware that you will most likely release me from your service before you have finished reading this letter. (But please do try and keep your temper under control.)_

_First, the cellar inventory records are false, as far back as they go. Most notable is the difference between the amount of fine wine consumed at your table versus the amount that is reflected in the books. The difference, as you have likely already guessed, is equal to the amount I have drunk myself and served to friends and staff. Similar disparities exist in regards to the consumption of certain cheeses and other exotic food items._

_Second, it is rumored that the armory supply seems to have been dwindling over the last few years. My lord, I have in my possession a number of items that the guards have left in the cellars and in my personal chambers. As I have lost track of what belongs to whom, I cannot return these items, and I have not attempted to bring them to the armory for fear that my appearance there might cause too much of a stir._

_The items in my possession are as follows: 11 helms, 23 vambraces, 38 sword belts (please keep in mind that these have accumulated over quite a few years), 9 hanks of rope, and a set of prison keys._

_Third… You might recall the time that young Prince Legolas learned of a number of deviant sexual practices that are common amongst the second born, and boasted of his knowledge to Lord Elrond. My apologies. I may have gotten a bit carried away during our discussion of the birds and the bees (he was afraid to seek your counsel on such matters)._

_That is all I can think of at the moment. I sincerely apologize for all of my wrongdoings, and now place myself at your mercy._

_Your Faithful Servant,_  
Galion  



	2. Thranduil

_'A letter?'_ wondered Thranduil, carefully turning the envelope over in his hands. It was not so unusual for Mirkwood's king to receive letters, but finding an envelope without an official seal on the floor inside his chambers, apparently pushed inside through the doorsill, was odd indeed.

Curiosity seized him.

Swiftly he opened the envelope and began to read; the handwriting was unmistakably Galion's, as was the style of writing.

' _Why didn't he come himself if he desired a word?’_ he wondered. _‘Am I so terrible a king that my subjects no longer dare to approach me_ _?_ _’_

The rising questions were silenced shortly thereafter when the heavy goblet fell out of his hand onto the wooden floor.

This must be some sort of a crude joke, surely — too grave was what his servant stated — and quickly Thranduil skimmed through the rest, his mouth agape.

As ridiculous as it seemed, the facts were in accordance with his own observations; indeed the keeper of the armory had often complained about missing items in recent years, and the statistics of the wine seemed at odds more than once.

But no, this could not be! Not him, not his most trusted servant!

Line by line Thranduil re-read the letter then, and anger rose within him anew, until his hands clenched into fists.

 _'But please do try and keep your temper under control,_ ' he read out loud.

How dare his servant? What impertinence! Oh, Galion should be thankful that he was nowhere near him right now, otherwise ... well, he didn’t know exactly what.

And worst of all, his own son was a victim! All too well Thranduil remembered the embarrassing incident with Lord Elrond a good while ago; for the Lord of Rivendell it was the final proof that the wood-elves and their ruler were nothing more than barbarians disguised as fair elves.

Legolas had not spoken to him for a week after he had received his scolding.

_'Mercy ... Your faithful servant.'_

The noise that left his lips was all but kingly. "Oh, I will show you MERCY, you… you… !" There was no word in the tongue of elves or men for what he wanted to say.

He let all courtesies slip as he sat down to write, hand shaking.

**_Galion,_ **

**_Of you, least of all the servants in my realm had I suspected any of these grave and unacceptable mistakes. My schedule is tight today, but I request your presence in my private study no later than when the council meeting has ended, to explain this humorless wit, because that is what I still hope it is._ **

**_If you do not deem it fit to accept this invitation, see that you have left my realm by sunset._ **

**_Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Elves of the Woodland Realm_ **

**_P.S._ _Bring one of the sword belts with you_**

 

Carefully he sealed the envelope with his royal sigil and handed it to one of his servants, the day certainly ruined…


	3. Galion

Galion stopped before the door to Thranduil's private study. In his clammy hands he clutched the sword belt he'd been asked to bring, and as he took a fortifying breath he looked down at it.

His heart stopped. 

Scratched into the dark leather on the inside of the belt, Galion just now noticed, were words he'd once gleefully scrawled after one too many goblets of wine.

_Property of Galion_

'This must be some kind of a nightmare,' he thought. Out of thirty-eight such belts, he had to have snatched this particular one. He'd completely forgotten how much satisfaction it had once given him to know that Ingon was prancing down the halls with 'Property of Galion' carved into his belt. Now he was going to pay for his immaturity, for he was already late, and he doubted that either his tardiness or the state of the guard's belt would amuse Thranduil. 

While he stood deliberating about whether or not he should return to his chambers and fetch another belt or take his chances that Thranduil wouldn't notice the inscription, the door swung open.

Galion felt the blood drain from his cheeks as he stood face-to-face with the king. He swallowed over a knot in his throat. 

There was no turning back now.


	4. Thranduil

The hours dragged on endlessly in the council meeting that day, mostly because Thranduil’s attention was completely elsewhere; how should he bother about numbers, border patrol schedules and other rather unimportant facts when the words Galion had written roamed repeatedly his mind? When his most loyal servant seemed to have betrayed him – and his trust? Something that was unforgivable.

When one of his advisors went off on an endless monologue after having been silenced by the king himself only moments before, Thranduil finally lost his temper and announced the end of the forsaken meeting.

Quickly he hushed through the endless corridors towards his quarters where he restlessly paced back and forth in his study, Galion’s letter clenched between his fists. Over the vast expanses of his forest, the sun already began to set, and Thranduil wondered if Galion indeed had left his realm — never to return. The words he had written were harsh, and for a moment he even felt remotely apologetic for having added that sentence.

His train of thought was interrupted by the shuffling of feet in front of the door, which he opened immediately.

"While it might be amusing to listen to your frantic breathing outside my door all night, I simply do not have the time," Thranduil said, without the slightest hint of amusement. "Come in."

With weighted steps, Galion crossed the threshold into the room, and without speaking another word Thranduil closed the door, locking it for obvious reasons. What they had to discuss was meant for their ears, and theirs alone.

He inhaled deeply as he studied Galion for a while in silence, his gaze wandering from his butler’s flushed cheeks over his throat and finally down to his hands, where he tightly clutched one of the belts he had apparentlykept for himself rather than returning them to their rightful owners.

“Now,” at last Thranduil began, his piercing eyes directed at Galion’s face again, “what is the meaning of this? Explain yourself, and do not push my patience further; and, in addition, have the courtesy to hand me what you hold in your hands.” The words were spoken as a command and although Galion was no soldier, the king was certain that his servant would understand.


	5. Galion

Thranduil's tone left no room for argument. Holding the sword belt carefully so that the inscription remained hidden, Galion offered it to him, then stepped back quickly.

"Hîr nín, I…" Galion trailed off, not sure what kind of explanation Thranduil was expecting. His misdeeds spoke for themselves. "There is no excuse for my behavior. I enjoy the good things life has to offer, perhaps a bit too much, and I've taken advantage of my position in order to partake of them."

It didn't matter that his indulgences helped him to forget the past—to fill, at least momentarily, the void he felt inside his chest; his actions were despicable and inexcusable, regardless of what fueled them. He deserved whatever punishment the king saw fit.


	6. Thranduil

For a while Galion remained silent as Thranduil regarded him with impatience, his butler’s hands idly playing with the item between this fingers; he was nervous, terribly so—that much was not lost on the king—and more than anything Thranduil wished he could spare him the punishment that was expected to be carried out.

All wishes were wiped off his mind when at last Galion began to speak, confirming what he had already written in his letter. With an audible sigh of annoyance Thranduil shook his head, upon the blatant misbehavior, yet in truth he was at a loss of what to do with his servant; after all, Galion had come freely to him, confessing his sins, accepting the punishment which was likely to come in advance.

“The good things life has to offer,” he slowly repeated the words; his people, his servants and soldiers didn’t have the hardest of lives—even without stealing food and wine from him, now did they? Their lives were quiet and sheltered, with an abundance of food, their quarters dry and warm, secluded from outside threats inside the cavernous halls. Rather accidentally he twisted the belt Galion gave him between his hands back and forth, turning it over and then again, absently admiring the craftsmanship.

What on earth had made Galion keep all these belts?

What did he get out of it?

At one point his hands froze, and he narrowed his eyes. Something that was not supposed to be there adorned the inside of the belt.

“Property. Of. Galion. What is the meaning of this stupidity?” Punctuating every word he read the inscription out aloud, his heavy and inquisitive gaze now resting upon his servant’s face. “Maybe it would have helped to etch my name into all those bottles you have drunk without my permission?” he spoke his thoughts aloud, slowly and carefully weighted, devoid of the slightest hint of amusement, “or shall I write my name into your skin?”

Before Galion could say anything in defense, a small dagger was now in his hand, the one usually carefully hidden somewhere that would forever remain his secret. “Now how does that sound?” he asked rhetorically, actually not expecting an answer from the nervous elf in front of him, and after a short pause he spoke again: “Or what punishment would you deem fit?”


	7. Galion

Galion swallowed nervously as he stared at the gleaming dagger in Thranduil's hand, thinking _He wouldn't truly carve his name into my skin, would he?_ A shiver ran through him as he imagined the feel of the cold blade against his skin, wondering where on his body the king might decide to carry out such a deed. It would hurt. It would bleed. It would…

Coming to his senses, Galion shook his head at the direction his thoughts had taken. He was, after all, being given an alternative—to suggest his own punishment. But what form of disciplinary action could he recommend that Thranduil might find sufficient? Anything was better than being released from the king's service or perhaps even banished. 

"Hîr nín, you could—" Galion cleared his throat. "You could lock me up in the dungeons for whatever length of time you deem appropriate." Doubtless he would only be provided stale bread or porridge and water for nourishment. "And/or withhold my wages until I have paid for the stolen goods." 

He tried to stand straight and hold his head up, for he was in the presence of the king, but he dared not meet Thranduil's gaze.


	8. Thranduil

_‘In the dungeons like a common … dwarvish thief?’_

With a smirk that was not entirely innocent Thranduil took a step towards the startled elf, holding the shining dagger right in front of Galion’s eyes. It was odd, the king thought, and perhaps even inappropriate, but the terror that danced momentarily through Galion’s eyes elicited an amount of delight Thranduil had not expected. Quickly, he circled around Galion until he came to stand behind him, mainly to escape Galion’s gaze. He had not felt like this for what easily could be described as an age.

Carefully and with a smile on his lips he bent his head until his chin was almost resting upon Galion’s shoulder. “In the dungeons?” asked Thranduil softly, one eyebrow quirked in almost mockery, and the words were accompanied by a soft chuckle. No, simply putting Galion into the darkest cavern for how long he doesn’t yet know was no befitting punishment; well—actually it was, but it was not something he would take delight in doing. “You have not been so —let’s say—unimaginative when it came to steeling from me,” he thought aloud, “but for your own punishment you are devoid of a befitting idea. Oh, Galion…” With the words spilling past his lips that were still curved into a smile, he shook his head to make clear that he was highly amused by his servant’s blatant proposition. “And in regard to your wages: Do you truly think my kingdom suffers from a lack of wealth such that the price of a few bottles of wine matters?” Certainly not.

The wealth of his kingdom is myth-enshrouded, and with his share of Smaug’s treasure now securely hidden within the halls all the more, and he couldn’t care less about the lost value—Galion’s betrayal concerned him much more.

“Where is the delight in all of this, the amusement?” Thranduil almost whispered as he let his index finger brush against Galion’s back. “What if I indeed carved the words into your back … for all to watch. For your paramours, those maidens you’ve taken great delight in, the male warriors of my guard too, I might note, so that the entire kingdom will remember whom you truly serve … and belong to. Now how does that sound to you?”


	9. Galion

Galion stood frozen as Thranduil stepped up behind him, leaning in over his shoulder so close that his hair tickled the tip of his ear. A wild fluttering arose inside him, adding to the tight, knotted feeling in his belly.

When Thranduil spoke, his warm breath against Galion's jawline accompanied his mocking words. Then he brushed his finger along Galion's back, and the touch sent another shiver running up the latter's spine. 

_'Delight…amusement.'_ These were not emotions Galion had expected Thranduil would want to gain from his punishment. Clearly he had inherited more than just his father's crown and his temper. 

Whereas previously the sight of the blade and the fierce gleam in Thranduil's eyes had ignited a spark of excitement in him, this unexpected turn of the conversation caused a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and Galion shuddered at the memories that flooded his mind unbidden. But he had confessed to his transgressions of his own volition, and had accepted the king's summons in lieu of leaving the realm; he had no choice but to submit to whatever punishment Thranduil chose. 

"Aran nín," he said hoarsely, "I have already surrendered to your will. If that is indeed how you would see me pay for my crimes, then I have no choice but to accept your decision."


	10. Thranduil

Thranduil knew he was playing at a game that was not entirely fair to the one he had dragged into it without asking. If he was honest, it was not only unfair but also cruel, and briefly he wondered when he had started taking such delight in threatening the innocent. Well—Galion was not entirely innocent, but his servants misconduct didn't excuse what his own actions. For a few seconds guilt flickered through his mind, but he deliberately decided to ignore the it, as Galion’s words, _‘I have already surrendered to your will,’_ repeatedly rang in his ears.

How far would he go, Thranduil asked himself as he let his finger wander down Galion’s spine, surprised that he did not flinch away at the slightest.

After what seemed like forever he disrupted the heavy silence that had fallen between them.

“No,” stated Thranduil with an unnerving calmness, “I do not desire to mar your flawless skin, nor do I wish to make your ‘crimes’ public; this is about you and me, and about nothing else—and certainly there are other ways to repay your debts.” Thranduil found it nearly impossible not to chuckle as unexpected thoughts began to occupy his mind.

Carelessly he flung the knife in his hand away, and it landed on the wooden floor with a loud chink. Only then, Thranduil removed his hand from Galion’s back and circled around him again until he stood right before him, noticing that Galion’s gaze was cast onto the floor. Without much thought he brought a finger beneath his chin to make his servant look at him whilst he spoke.

“Believe it or not, Galion, I am not upset with what you have done,” he said at last with something that could almost be described as an understanding smile, the smile he often had given his son when Legolas had been young, “at least not anymore, because I was. Upset and hurt by your betrayal of my trust, and I am still not entirely certain if I can ever trust you again. Right now, however, I merely wish to understand the motives of your actions. You  
wouldn't mind elaborating a bit further as to what exactly you used these belts for in the middle of the night, now would you?” Thranduil added with a smirk that was not entirely innocent.

Swiftly he took a step backwards and pointed invitingly towards the fireplace where he often sat down on the cushions to read until late at night, eyes curiously resting on Galion.


	11. Galion

Galion felt a wave of relief wash over him as Thranduil carelessly threw the dagger away. Neverthless, that brief exchange left him in a heightened state of excitement and anticipation, and all his senses seemed inexplicably keener. He was aware of Thranduil's every breath and every movement, however minute. It was difficult now to resume the conversation as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

" _Used_ , my lord?" he asked, hesitantly following Thranduil to sitting area in front of the hearth. Undoubtedly he would have laughed at the question if it had been someone else asking. "Most of the time they were flung into a dark corner—much like that dagger. Which probably explains why so many have been left behind."

Yet sensing that Thranduil was unimpressed by his answer, he felt compelled to share something of interest. 

"Some of the guards do enjoy a good belting, however." Then, a little more softly he added, "Or even to have their air supply cut off temporarily."

He dared not look at Thranduil after this revelation, for such practices were not spoken of openly, and he had only performed the latter after quite a bit of goading on his lover's part. Also, the current turn of the conversation was doing nothing to quell his arousal. 

Galion discreetly adjusted his robes, hoping that Thranduil's curiosity had been satisfied and that he wouldn't ask him any more such horribly embarrassing questions.


	12. Thranduil

All the anger and disappointment he had felt earlier was drowned by something else, something Thranduil could not entirely explain; interest, yes certainly, also a good proportion of curiosity as to what else Galion had to tell him. Admittedly, he had never taken much of an interest in his servant before. Gracefully he sat down onto the plush cushions, pouring himself some wine. “Help yourself if you are interested in drinking my best vintage without having to steel it under my nose,” said Thranduil as he placed the carafe back onto the small table that stood by the siting area; after all, Galion was his servant and not the other way round.

Still, he did not wish to make Galion feel more uncomfortable than he already was. The situation was odd, as was his mind right now. He couldn’t tell exactly how many years Galion had lived in his realm for certain, but he was one of the constants of his kingdom, always there. Over the brim of his cup he watched Galion, who began to explain what exactly he had used those belts for.

With every word that spilled so hesitantly across the Silvan elf’s lips, Thranduil’s eyes widened in response. That something sexual had been involved he had assumed from the beginning. (Why else would they have ended up in his servant’s chambers?) But this? Unease and hesitation seemed to be eating Galion alive, and well, if Thranduil was honest he would have hesitated, too, to confess such _‘sins.’_

_Is this another lie?_ he asked himself, but no trace of dishonesty was to be found. Absently, the king quirked his eyebrows as he regarded him through narrowed eyes.

Galion, timid, almost insecure Galion—Thranduil had trouble believing the words, because that was at least how he had perceived him throughout all the years. A perfect disguise, certainly. Still, he did not seem to be so self-conscious around him, and the way in which he idly twisted his garments did not go unnoticed. Thranduil took a large sip of wine, taking his time before he spoke again.

“Air supply cut off…” Thranduil repeated, voice strong and stern, and he could not help but to stop and think who exactly would enjoy such treatment, but for once he deemed it wise to remain silent on the matter. “Pardon me if I find it rather interesting indeed what sins are conducted in my realm behind closed doors.”

Silence fell for a moment as he took another sip from his cup, taking delight in Galion’s demeanor. Surely, he was at a loss for what to think or do.

“Ever dared to try it out yourself?”

 


	13. Galion

Galion flushed a little at the mention of wine, but decided it would be even more humiliating to refuse Thranduil's offer.

"It isn't so much a matter of daring," he said, as he poured himself a modest amount of Dorwinion. He swirled his goblet, unable to resist a discreet sniff of the familiar spicy bouquet. "I have simply never felt the desire to try it. Such an act requires one to completely give up control to another. I do not see the appeal in that." 

Galion preferred to be the one in control. So it was in daily life in the palace, where he answered only to the king and prince, and so it was with his partners at night. Once upon a time he had marveled at how readily the king's soldiers and guards, warriors brave and strong, submitted to him. With time, however, he'd grown accustomed to it. Indeed he had perfected it to something of an art.

Setting down the carafe, he returned to join Thranduil, taking a seat on one of the cushions opposite him. "I assume you share that sentiment, aran nín?"


	14. Thranduil

“Now, isn’t it much better to drink wine offered freely rather than that which was stolen?” commented Thranduil absently whilst he regarded his servant through narrowed eyes.

He had never paid him too much notice, at least until now, but he couldn’t deny that Galion was handsome in the typical way quite a few of the Silvan elves were, so completely different in their outer appearance than he was.

After long consideration, listening eagerly to the words Galion had to say, he sighed internally as he highly disapproved with his soldiers’ activities. It was not so much about the uncommon preferences some of them apparently harbored, but that they would wholeheartedly cast down their guard for a fleeting night of passion.

With mastered ease he controlled his voice, sounding calm as ever although he was not. “I must admit that I do not like the news you have to tell about my guards and soldiers; yielding so readily to whom else I do not even wish to know seems entirely unacceptable. All I can hope for is that they keep their nightly activities at bay whilst being on patrol.”

Anger rose within him, and although he had wished to send Galion out into the forest for his disobedience previously, it was perhaps not the wisest choice, and he was glad that he had refrained.

“To be honest, I do not share that sentiment as you prefer to call it,” said the king, and memories of the years of his youth came back to him; days in which he had learned and eagerly explored quite a few things, much to his father’s dismay. “Only one who has tried and experienced both sides and many things can judge precisely, wouldn’t you agree?” asked Thranduil nonchalantly, leaning back against the cushions with a smirk, exchanging the goblet for the belt Galion had presented him earlier.

“Undress.”


	15. Galion

Galion didn't think the guards were as eager to submit to just anyone, but he was wise enough not to argue with Thranduil. He was in deep enough as it was.

… Although, in all honestly, this meeting with the king felt more like a luxury than a prelude to punishment. Here he was, sipping Dorwinion openly from the comfort of one of Thranduil's soft fireplace cushions. Aroused, and talking about sex. Yes, Thranduil had embarrassed him a bit, but Galion had imagined far worse scenarios before coming here. 

And now Thranduil was, for all intents and purposes, admitting that he had assumed both dominant and submissive roles in his own sexual escapades. This surprised Galion greatly, for he had never expected to gain such knowledge of the king. He was so busy contemplating this newly acquired information that his mind barely processed the single word that left Thranduil's lips next, spoken as a soft command:

"Undress."

Galion froze, the tantalizing flavors of his last sip of Dorwinion still playing on his tongue as he noticed the belt in Thranduil's hands. Long, pale fingers closed around the dark leather. 

Carefully Galion set down his goblet. He could not have heard Thranduil correctly. It was a struggle to keep his voice steady as he asked, "I beg your pardon?"


	16. Thranduil

 

A heavy silence fell once Galion had spoken, moments in which both regarded each other, trying to read the other’s thoughts perhaps.

At last, the king raised his voice: “You have understood me fairly well.” said Thranduil, rising to his feet and taking a step forward to where Galion sat. His voice was devoid of amusement as it was devoid of affection, too. This wasn’t about affection, about love – in fact Thranduil was not entirely certain himself what this was about.

With wide eyes Galion watched him, and in return he smirked.

Challenging, mocking.

The belt was still in his hands and obviously he was not the only one who knew that such belts could be used for entirely different things, too.

 **“** Do not let me repeat my words a second time.” There was a sharp edge to his words as he leaned down until he was on eye-level with Galion.

His intensive stare bore into his servant before he muttered under his breath: **_“Strip.”_**

 _‘Or do I have to make you?’_ He did not say those words, however, doubting that Galion would disobey his order.

 


	17. Galion

Galion had no choice. Unless he wanted to risk being banished after all—or beaten with the belt Thranduil held in his hands—he had to strip. 

For the first time in his life, he was nervous about sex (if that was indeed what Thranduil wanted, which he still couldn't quite believe). He had no idea what would come next, and the anticipation both unnerved and excited him. He cursed inwardly as he fumbled with the buttons of his robes, his fingers clumsy due to their trembling. At last he cast the outer garment aside and then swiftly pulled his tunic over his head, tossing it onto the heap as well. The air caressed his newly exposed skin, warmer on the side facing the fire. 

Now there was nothing hiding the bulge in his trousers. He glanced down at it, then back up into Thranduil's watchful eyes. The uncertainty he was facing, not knowing how and when the king would react, only aroused him further.

Galion pulled off his boots next. Then, drawing in a deep, steadying breath, he reached for the laces and began to untie them.


	18. Thranduil

Thranduil tilted his head to the side as was so typical for him, regarding Galion’s trembling hands in silence. For once he wished he possessed the same gift some of his kin had, the blessing to invade another’s mind. But he didn’t, and all he could do was to read Galion’s body language, which was indeed telling enough.

Nervousness. Insecurity. Arousal for certain.

Languidly, Thranduil stretched against the cushions, making a noise of appreciation as he did. “Go on,” he said when Galion took a moment too long with the buttons of his robes. Slowly he began to lose his patience, becoming further aroused by his servant’s performance; he was still wearing too many clothes.

Fortunately, Galion was quicker with the rest.

Thranduil liked what he saw, perhaps more than he had originally thought – Galion was beautiful in his very own way. Galion’s body was well-shaped, muscles flexing beneath skin that was a bit darker than his own. In fact his eyes wandered from Galion’s face down his chest, until his gaze came to rest on the massive bulge in his servant’s breeches. Involuntarily his eyes widened, this was the final proof of Galion’s depravity.

“I see.” His voice was perfectly neutral, perhaps unnerving. He did not care.

For a moment, silence fell, Galion rendered speechless as it seemed, or occupied with removing his boots. Only when he began to play idly with the lacings of his breeches, Thranduil spoke again.

“Enough,” he stated, gracefully rising to his feet and walking towards where Galion stood half-naked. “There is no need to take the breeches off. This is not about your cock – but mine.” The smile Thranduil offered him was anything but sweet, indulgent even, as he brought his fingertips beneath Galion’s chin. He looked him right in the eyes as he demanded, “And now undress **_me_**.”

Of course he could strip out of his robes himself; but why should he, with a servant at hand?


	19. Galion

No sooner had Thranduil spoken than Galion's hands stilled over his crotch, leaving the laces untied and loosened, but not undone. He didn't appreciate the assumption that he'd expected some kind of physical attention. After all, he had only been following orders. Orders that had left no room for argument. But as Thranduil came to stand before him, with the command to undress him instead, Galion's irritation dissipated.

Suddenly, memories from millennia ago came rushing back. Memories of a time when Thranduil had been a young prince, too impatient and temperamental to be trusted with the elaborate buttons and closures on his his formal regalia. Galion had dressed and undressed him many times, then; had endured the torment of watching Thranduil blossom into adulthood, when he could no longer perform those duties without succumbing to inappropriate fantasies.

As their eyes met, Galion smirked, emboldened now. He reached for Thranduil's brooch first, allowing more contact between his hands and the king's chest than was necessary for the task. Then he tossed the heavy piece of royal ornamentation rather carelessly onto one of the cushions, again meeting his gaze in a sort of challenge. He kept eye contact even as he opened the clasps on Thranduil's robes with deft fingers, and then pushed the material roughly back off of his shoulders, taking a moment to relish the feeling of hard muscle underneath the soft, thin tunic he wore underneath.


	20. Thranduil

_At least he is still capable of obeying,_ Thranduil thought when Galion’s hands stilled not a moment after he had spoken the last word. He noticed the smirk playing on his servant’s lips, too, when he stepped so close that Thranduil could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling when Galion’s fingers brushed against him, quite the contrary; they sparked yet another wave of anticipation within him. It had been quite a while since the king had indulged in such idle pleasantries, being occupied with keeping the kingdom running. Well, there had been some messengers from the golden wood in whom he had taken quite the delight. Galadriel had put an end to that very quickly (much to his dismay).

“You are allowed to touch if you so desire,” said Thranduil, meeting Galion’s challenging gaze, which did not quite fit with the hesitance his body language still betrayed. At last, when the robes fell from his shoulders, Galion did, and for moments he allowed himself to relish in the touch, wishing the tunic he still wore to the Void The touch felt wonderful against his exhausted muscles – sitting around in the council chambers had been long and tiresome today.

“Continue,” demanded Thranduil, with a certain note of urgency ringing in his voice. “To my understanding, I am still not undressed.”

In secret, he wondered with which garment Galion would continue, and what exactly he would do next.


	21. Galion

The note of urgency and anticipation in Thranduil’s tone was encouraging, to say the least. Galion wasted no time in removing his tunic and running his hands over the smooth alabaster skin that was revealed. Never had he received any sign of interest from Thranduil in the past. More than likely, it was because the king had never taken any interest in him before—but it didn’t matter. Galion would enjoy what he could, while he could. 

Thranduil’s skin felt even smoother against his lips than it had beneath his fingers, and he couldn’t resist occasionally scraping it with his teeth as his mouth travelled down the sculpted torso. Galion sank to his knees. His hands slid down and back up the backs of Thranduil’s thighs and calves as he tried to decide whether to remove Thranduil’s boots next or to proceed with untying his breeches. The former would be more conducive to getting to getting him undressed--which, of course, was what Galion had been ordered to do--but the latter would allow them to get on with the business sooner. 

Although Galion still wasn’t sure what exactly Thranduil wanted from him, he decided to take his chances. While his hands continued caressing Thranduil’s legs, he pressed his mouth against the bulge in his trousers—a couple of kisses on the shaft followed by a delicate bite—and looked up to gauge his reaction.


	22. Thranduil

A content sigh left Thranduil’s lips when Galion’s hands brought the tunic quickly down to the floor, all the more when he began to let his fingers wander over his skin. Perhaps he shouldn’t enjoy himself as much as he already was; wasn’t this yet another form of punishment? Perhaps, but for once he puts the matter aside in his head and allowed his mind to focus on more urgent things – namely Galion’s questing hands on his skin. He let his eyes flutter closed, relishing in the exploring touches. Actually, a bit to his surprise, he thought he would be entirely content with nothing else happening between them apart from this. Well, perhaps, another day, another night – the opportunity at hand demanded something entirely different.

“You have quite a talent with your mouth,” Thranduil stated when Galion’s teeth scraped along his muscles, certainly meant as suggestively as it sounded. There was no doubt where exactly this would lead, and Galion’s sharp intake of breath at the notion confirmed that he hadn’t any doubts, either. Lower and lower Galion sank, his lips never leaving his skin, and Thranduil was already thinking what reward he might offer his servant for his efforts.

A moan fell from his lips when Galion began to caress his cock through the damp fabric; by the gods, he had a natural talent with his mouth indeed, combined with an endearing impatience. Thranduil threaded the fingers of his hand into Galion’s hair and pulled sharply at it, without warning, to make him stop what he was doing. Instead, his servant was now forced to look at him.

“Say, how often have you dreamt of going down on me late at night?” Thranduil asked. It was not meant as another humiliation; he simply was curious. Simultaneously he withdrew his fingers from Galion’s hair, now allowing them to brush gently against his servant’s cheeks in an almost affectionate manner. Along his cheekbone his thumb wandered, towards the corner of his mouth, mapping the curve of his lips.


	23. Galion

"I have not kept a tally," Galion said, now tugging on the laces of Thranduil's breeches. The air between them was thick with the musky scent of arousal, and he was eager to get on with things. "But maybe my performance will give you some idea." 

Thranduil wouldn't understand the significance of his word choice, but it didn't matter. the past was best left in the past. He did not need any sympathy; it was enough that there was no audience here.

Once Thranduil's cock was free of his breeches, Galion refrained from touching it with his hands. Instead, he let his palms rest on Thranduil's thighs as he placed soft kisses along the shaft, starting at the balls and moving all the way to the tip. He sucked the fluid that had collected there into his mouth, and moaned with satisfaction at the bitter-salty taste of it.

The truth was that he'd never imagined pleasuring Thranduil like this, only the opposite, but surprisingly he found that he enjoyed being in this position again.


	24. Thranduil

“Good,” muttered Thranduil under his breath as he visibly struggled to regain his composure (which, of course, had already faltered, all the more when Galion’s breath danced across the damp bulge).

For seconds, he allowed his eye-lids to flutter closed, reveling in the knowledge of what would happen next. When he opened his eyes again, he gazed downwards, mesmerized by the sight Galion presented; auburn hair framed his face, and his hazel eyes looked almost obediently upwards. The mischievous sparkle in them, however, persisted, much to Thranduil’s own delight. He wasn’t overly fond of quiet and unresponsive lovers, nor of absolute beginners – apparently Galion was neither.

For once, he allowed his servant to dictate the pace of his caresses, feathery and soft – certainly to his liking. Thranduil did not bite back the soft moan that had gathered on his tongue. How could he, when his most loyal servant had such a talent with his mouth (if he had known, oh well, perhaps he wouldn’t have waited half a century), taking his time with his cock.

The belt. It was still in his hand, and it seemed as if Galion – in all his eagerness – had obviously forgotten about it.

_'Even better,’_ Thranduil mused in silence as a devilish smirk began to form on his lips. Without giving a hint of warning, he raised his hands and slipped it across Galion’s neck, whispering ever so softly, “You did not assume that I would hold it idly hands forever, now did you?”


	25. Galion

Shivers ran up Galion's spine as Thranduil slipped the belt around his neck. He had forgotten all about it. Now his heart raced with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. He'd done this to another, but had never experienced it himself. 

As the surprise wore off he allowed his hands to resume their slow journey towards Thranduil's crotch. "I have not thought about it," he admitted, and running his palm up and down the length his clothed erection, "but I suppose that wouldn't make any sense whatsoever."

The leather bit into his skin as he swallowed, releasing Thranduil's gaze so that he could continue with the task at hand. Slowly he licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, starting at his balls and all the way to the tip, before sucking the head into his mouth.


	26. Thranduil

*

Galion’s tremor as the belt tightened around his throat did not go entirely unnoticed by Thranduil, even if his mind was already fogged by lust; his servant on his knees right before him was truly a sight to behold, a sight which he certainly could get used to. Too many nights the king had spent with his hand as a poor substitute of another one’s mouth. Curiously, Thranduil observed Galion’s facial expression transform, and when he spoke, a faint smile crossed the king’s lips. However, he didn’t reply, at least not vocally as for once he didn’t deem words necessary.

The touch of Galion’s tongue against his cock was exquisite. Almost too much to bear. Without warning, Thranduil brought his hand to the back of Galion’s head and thrust into the parted mouth until he could feel Galion’s nose against his pelvis. For seconds he held him down before he withdrew, only to thrust into that eager mouth again and again; and whilst he did, he tore at the end of the belt to increase the impact it had around his servant’s throat. Soon Galion began to cough around his cock, and in response a shiver of delight ran through Thranduil’s body.

_Fuck._

As Galion’s struggle for breath intensified he stopped his thrusts but held his head down, his cock buried deep in Galion’s throat, the grip of his hand hard and unrelenting. The hot air coming out of Galion’s nostrils brushing so wonderfully against his skin nearly sent him over the edge.


End file.
